


Charlie Weasley: I'm a Patient Man

by IKEAwhatyoudidthere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, LF2020; TeamEros;, mentions Ron Weasley; Mentions Weasley family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IKEAwhatyoudidthere/pseuds/IKEAwhatyoudidthere
Summary: Charlie Weasely is a patient man- afterall, what would you expect from a man who hunts dragons in the wild to study and help?He is also confident that his determination will pay off and he will land the catch of his life; the heart of a certain frizzy haired witch who he has admired from afar for far too long.The question is though, does Hermione want to be caught?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 44
Kudos: 84
Collections: Love Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildflowerWeasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildflowerWeasley/gifts).



> Written as a gift to the very lovely Wildflowerweasley.
> 
> Written as part of the Fairest of the Rare: Love Fest 2020  
> #LF2020 #teameros
> 
> As always, these characters belong to the world of JKR.

Charlie Weasely: I'm a Patient Man 

The top of his head is unmistakable. She’d know that messy auburn topknot anywhere, even without the dragon tooth hanging from the leather thonging. 

He is a large man, there’s certainly no doubt about it-- but when Charlie Weasley is in a room, the room feels small. And not because he’s big, because, obviously, he is, but because his presence seems to dominate any space he occupies. It engulfs any ordinariness, replacing it with...him.

Hermione once thought that he seemed like the expanding foam her dad used to use to fill draughty gaps in their home- squeezed into a place, then expanding to take it over, smothering all the gaps available with HIM. And of course it was absurd to compare Charlie to a gap-filler, but by Merlin, it was a bloody good metaphor. 

She can see him sitting on the black leather sofa at the end of the corridor, back to her, looking out of one of the magically charmed windows that the DMLE has in the waiting room lobby. He is at ease- the scene before him is an old growth forest reaching down to a mirrored lake. All oranges, and greens and greys. It is peaceful, and it is empty of all distractions- a far cry from the Ministry in all its bustling peopleness and flying memos and noise. Charlie reaches up behind him to scratch his neck and then, moving his head from side to side, cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders.

Hermione watches him and the pats her pencil skirt down, subtly wiping her palms on the fabric; if she shakes his hand, she doesn’t want it to be clammy. That would just be mortifying. He would find it amusing and use any excuse to tease her. She clears her throat quietly and he stiffens for a moment. He couldn't have possibly heard her- could he? His long arms stretch and rest carelessly on the top of the cushions. If he has, he gives no indication by turning around. No. he waits for her to walk around the lounge chair and stand directly in front of her.

“Charlie,” she says brightly walking to stand in front of him.

He doesn’t stand, and she thinks quickly that perhaps he’s hurt- another dragon accident perhaps?

But no. Charlie Weasley has decided to stay sitting, good manners be damned, so when she arrives before him, he can look her straight in the eyes. 

Those damned honey eyes. The eyes he could drown in.

Charlie gives her a wide smile, giving her a subtle up and down glance and quickly clears his throat. He moves his arms off the top of the chair and reaches to her, taking her outstretched hand in both of hers and pulls her into his lap. Really? Did she think after all these years that he’d shake her hand. Granted, it had been six months since he’d last seen her, but still...Charlie Weasley would never shake the hand of Hermione Granger. Kiss it maybe, but not shake it.

“Frizz!” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

Hermione squeaked as he pulled her on to his lap, hitting his shoulder as she fiercely whispered a reprimand. “Charlie Weasley! Let me go. Damn you. I’m at work.” 

“You’re also on my lap, and in some countries this could be seen as part of an elaborate dating ritual-” If only. “- and, if you hit me, that could be a proposal on your behalf.”

Hermione wriggles off his lap and stands awkwardly, this time pulling down her skirt that has inched it way up her thigh. She tucks in her blouse that has come untucked with his shenanigans and sighs, mocking exasperation. 

“Well, it’s a good thing we live in cheery old Blighty then, isn’t it?” she should be annoyed, but really, it is great to see him after so long, and truth be told, she didn’t really mind the inappropriate hug. It was nice to be near him. 

“It is indeed.” he chuckles, stands and now Hermione can see just how large he is. He extends his arms wide and invites her to step into a hug, which she does, her hand clasping behind his narrow and hard waist.

“It’s good to see you Frizz. I’ve been thinking about you.” He hugs her tightly and places a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“It’s great to see you too, and, thank you. I was surprised to get your owl, I thought that--”

“What? You thought just because you and Ron weren’t together anymore that I wouldn’t still want to see you?”

“--ah, no, I thought you were tracking the Horntails through Bakony. Well, that’s what your mum told me.”

“Oh, and does mum tell you much about me these days?”

“Some. She tries to keep the conversation light. Talks about everyone else...tries not to mention him.”

“Mmmhm.” he says non commitantly

“I still see her for morning tea every Saturday fortnight.” She wonders how long a hug should be to be appropriate in a work setting? Hermione pulls away, reluctantly. “She makes sure I still feel like I’m part of the family, but in truth, I really do miss Sunday roast.” He smells so safe. “But, he goes to lunch then, and well, it would just be horribly awkward for everyone if I went.”

“He’s not going to be there on Sunday. You should stop by. You can sit next to me and I’ll protect you from the family.”

“As if I need protection.” 

“You know that mum still thinks of you as family, even if you aren’t with Ron anymore.”

“I know. She’s the closest thing to a mother I have, and I don’t think I could bear losing her as well.”

“Well, she has another three boys she can try to match-make you with, give her time. I’m sure the idea hasn’t been far from her mind.”

Hermione laughs and wipes a stray tear from her eye. She couldn’t fathom losing Molly and Arthur from her life-- she’d truly be an orphan then.

“You are aware that all her boys are taken, aren’t you? George has Angelina, Percy has Audrey, and I hear you have a rather fetching Swedish biologist living with you-- Claudia, wasn’t it?”

Charlie laughs loudly. “Good on the Molly-wire. Everyone knows everything about everyone else.”

She doesn’t know about Ron. Hermione is sure about that.

“Maybe. She doesn’t miss much.”

“She knows less than you think.”

Hermione looks at him, bites the inside of her cheek where he can’t see it. Does he know about Ron? She opts to say nothing and instead gives him a small smile.

It was a nice surprise to get a message from him, even at half an hours notice. It was also very nice of the universe to ensure that on the day he stopped by (largely) unannounced, that it was one of her quietest days of the week. Something of a rarity these days. Since her disintegration from Ron, she’d taken on more work than was probably healthy, spending so much time in her office, that her secretary had joked about bringing in a sofa bed for her. If she didn’t have Crookshanks, she’d have seriously considered it. He was the only thing that kept her from going back to the place she called home. Even if it didn’t feel like anymore. Which it didn’t.

“It was such a nice surprise to get your message; you’re lucky that I could sneak away for a while. Work has been manic lately.” she finished by an exaggerated slump of her shoulders.

“Yes, I consider myself quite lucky. I make my own luck and I’m quite single minded about it.” he smiles that warm smile at her and holds her eyes. His left hand is resting under her elbow, thumb very gently stroking her, and she supposes this is just habit of his, part of how he calms his dragons. “I see what I want in my mind’s eye, and most often than not, it works out that way. Sometimes it takes a little longer than I’d like, but my success rate is astonishingly high. You’re not the only high achiever around here Frizz.” he winks at her and she snorts, eyes crinkling, and when did his hand travel up her arm? Involuntarily, her skin goose-pimples under her blouse.

She tries to calm her mind. What was he doing here? He’d always been affectionate with her, but never like this. He’d always teased her, sparred with her verbally, argued and debated even- until dawn a few times, but never had he touched her like this, never smiled at her like...like he was a dragon looking at his next meal.

Hermione swallows and hopes he can’t see how hard it was.

“I’m also very determined in getting what I want. Determination and ambition- and, I suppose, passionate about what I love. And patience; I’m a patient man. Those things make me very successful, even if I say so myself. What'd you say Frizz, think I’m successful?” he has one curl of hers, the one that always escapes her low bun, between his fingers, rolling it around in his large and weathered fingers. He gives it a little tug and drops it.

“What I think, Charlie Weasley, is that you are an outrageous flirt with an inflated ego.” she says, matter of factly, and crosses her arms. She needs to step backwards because the way he is looking at her is deeply unsettling. She gives him a little challenging smile.

He laughs at her and steps forward into her space. “That I am, Friz, that I am. But you love it, don’t you?” his flirting is relentless and her belly is jumping inside.

Hermione puts her hands to her stomach. “You’re impossible.” She doesn’t answer his question, but steers the conversation in another direction. “Have you got time for some lunch? I’m about to take a short break.”

“Lunch? I was supposed to stop in and see the old man for a bit, but hey, I've been seeing him my whole life- and how rude would it be to turn down a pretty witch when she asks? My mum would kick me fair up the arse.”

That was Charlie. No shits given about propriety or expectations- living in the wild colonies with the dragons had changed him, shaped him like the landscape he worked and lived in. Hard, more rugged and wild. He simply oozed animality and ferociousness. He made her stomach do that thing she didn’t like. 

He made her nervous.

“Fantastic.'' She smiles widely. He does this to her, makes her smile when she doesn’t want to. He always has.

“Fantastic.” He repeats. “Ladies choice, Frizz. Unless you want me to take the lead?” he cocks his head to the side, challenging her.

“No, I’m quite capable of taking charge.” she says, a little indignant.

“I bet you are Frizz.” His hand is on her lower back as they start to move out of the lobby. “I can’t wait to see it.” he whispers down into her ear.

Hermione keeps walking, eyes ahead and is lost for words. What the hell is happening here? Why does she feel like she has just walked into a dragon pen with no escape.

“Oh, and I forgot. Happy Valentines Day.” He says without breaking a step.


	2. Chapter 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Charlie enjoy a Valentines day lunch as friends, but with the promise of more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters belong to JKR, as always.
> 
> I'm posting while the muse is with me, this hasn't been A/B'd

Chapter 2

It hadn’t even registered to her that it was Valentine’s Day; she’d been in the office since six, door shut to everyone on the pretense of tight deadlines and intensive research. She always had tight deadlines these days. 

It wasn’t that she was anti-social— she still had her 8 o’clock coffee, and her 10:30 tea, she made small talk if she bumped into anyone, she smiled a lot. No, she wasn’t antisocial, she just didn’t want to be around people. 

No one, except Harry, had even known they’d broken up until a few months after the fact. Two thirds of the golden trio, broken. Skeeter had had a field day, salacious lies and exaggerations covered the Prophet for weeks. Hermione had several panic attacks, and Ron? Well, he missed it all by fucking off overseas on ‘sabbatical’ for four months. 

Molly had come to her at the end of the first month, bustling through the floo like a whirlwind of fallen auburn curls and tear stains. She’d hugged her very tightly. She’d made her a pot of tea and ‘tskd’ at her empty larder. She’d set to doing what a mother would in any case of a broken heart: she tried to fix it. But Molly wasn’t her mum; she was Ron’s. And she couldn’t fix it. It was broken beyond repair. Just like her heart.

“Why on earth didn’t you come to me as soon as it happened?” She’d said, eyes wide, mouth down turned.

“Well it—“

“I could have _done_ something.” She’d bemoaned.

“It wa—“

“Am I always the last to know?” She cried, fresh tears on her cheeks.

“No, it wasn’t— “

“I find out by _ow_ l. _Owl_! From the far-east somewhere! That’s where he’s hiding. Oh, Hermione dear—“

“Molly, I’m truly sorry that, ah, you found out like this. I thought he would’ve gone straight to you. I thought he was with you. I, I thought you knew—“

“Knew?! Why would I know? I’m only the head of this household. Why should anyone tell me something this… this… devastating!” And then Molly sobbed, heart and ego aching.

“— I thought you didn’t want to see me…” her voice had dropped to a whisper.

“What?!” Molly looked horror stricken. “Not want you? Are you bloody daft? You’re my daughter, by bond not blood. And that’s all there is to it.”

And that’s all there had been to it. A simple sentence had reduced Hermione to a shaking mess on the floor, the anxiety, heartache and grief of losing not only Ron, but a family had been almost too much to bear. They had been truly dark days for her. Molly had almost been too much for her.

After Ron’s confession, and his departure, she’d taken a month's leave from work and retreated into the flat for two of those weeks. She cocooned herself in a thick quilt, watched all the sad movies from the video store, even the BBC version of Pride & Prejudice-- twice. 

At the end of the second week, when her self pity had dried up, she’d flown into a rage, destroyed all the glasses and crockery in the house, set fire to his clothes, and began looking for jobs elsewhere- screw her career path. Screw England. Fuck it all. All she wanted was to leave and never come back. 

In the third week she devoured self-help books, books that told her she would not only survive, but flourish. Rise, like a phoenix from the ashes. She’d read them, and inspired, sent off four job applications: to Romania, Russia, the United States and Australia. She hadn’t used her real name, for fear of Skeeter finding out and running a story that would decimate any chances to escape the impending shitstorm. She’d used her middle name, and the surname she’d given her parents. 

‘Jean Wilkins’ had received acknowledgement of her applications, but had not received any further correspondence. 

Hermione was really pissed at that- but in truth, what could she expect? Listing her Hogwarts NEWTs would have meant identifying herself. Providing work references would have meant that the Ministry would deny knowing ‘Jean Wilkins’- after all, she didn’t exist. Ron had really fucked things up for her; while he was away, hiding under some foreign rock and pretending like she didn’t exist, she was here, copping the brunt of it all. She was trapped. It really was a man’s world. 

So she did what she always did. She plastered on a smile, bought new glasses and crockery from IKEA, and she put up the walls around her so no-one would know what a shell she’d been reduced to. She was the ‘Golden Girl’; war heroine; she was Hermione fucking Granger. She got on with life.

And now she was here. In a restaurant she’d never been to, because Charlie was with her and she wanted to look like a competent adult. 

That ate at restaurants. Which she didn’t.

She smiled as the waiter placed the menu before her and thanked him. He gave her a long smile and hovered close by her side. “Of course, anything I can do to help, please, just call, madam.” he said with a tilt of his head. He turned from her, looked down at his nose at Charlie and wrinkled his nose.

Charlie however, was scowling. Staring at the man by her side and not blinking.

“Pretentious fucks.” he growled as he looked after the waiter who seemed to scurry away. 

“Sorry, what?” She looked up at him, wondering what had got him so shitty so soon.

A quick glance at the menu showed that they served a modern mixture of Italian and Eastern European dishes. At least she could take some comfort in knowing what to order. Risotto was a no-brainer safe dish.

“These prices, for peasant food.” he gestured at the laminated menu. “I know muggle money, and they are taking the piss here. What a rort this is.” 

She looked down at the prices, and from what she could remember about eating out at a restaurant, they seemed fairly typical but a little pricey compared to what she would usually buy for herself.

“Charlie, this is generally how much they sell for in London.” she whispered

“What? You’re kidding me? In Romania you would be shot in the street for stealing money like this.”

“We can go elsewhere if you like, but didn’t you say ladies choice?” he had said that, but this hadn’t really been a well executed choice. It was more like a quick-panic-walk-in-the-nearest-door decision. 

“I did, Frizz. I apologise.” His right hand went to his chest and he bowed his head. “I’ve obviously been away too long, I forget myself sometimes.”

“It’s fine, really. To be honest, I’ve never been here before. I don’t really know the places around here.” she whispered back at him.

“Surely, you must have a line of suitors begging for your attention? Dinner invitations every night? Poetry and declarations of devotions?” Hermione looked at him trying to see if he was teasing her again. He wasn’t wearing his cheeky smile, and honestly, she’d feel more comfortable if he were.

“No, of course not. Don’t be silly.” She chided him and looked down at the menu again, breaking their eye contact. She felt a warmness in her cheeks.

“I’m surprised, that’s all. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Her eyes shot up.

“I’m not embarrassed.” she declared. “It’s my choice. I’m very busy with work, and with Crookshanks, and I don’t really have the time for that nonsense.”

“Mmmhmm.” he replied, his left arm crossing his body and his other under his chin. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like a therapist?”

“You mean to say, that since you’re very public split with Ron, that not one man --or woman-- has shown you any interest? Tried to turn that pretty face of yours to them? I’m sorry Hermione, but I think you’re full of shit.”

He’d called her bluff. She ground her teeth and straightened her back.

“There may have been one or two owls asking me out for coffee, or lunch, but I didn’t go.” she said as if searching for a long forgotten memory.

“Why?”

“Because I never answered them back.” she wanted this conversation to stop. 

“Oh Frizz, I’m sure there were some broken hearts there. Not even a quick ‘no thank-you’ owl?” he admonished.

“No.” 

“Well, that’s a bit rude.” he said, eyebrows raised and lips pursed.

Hermione stared at him, her mouth falling open. He just called her rude. 

“And what concern is it of yours what I do, Charlie? I’m not with Ron anymore, you can stop acting like my brother.”

“But, you answered my owl, Frizz. And, I’ve never thought of you as a sister.”

Charlie looked away from her wide, indignant eyes, and down to the menu. Hermione reached for her glass of water and took a long drink.

“Anything catch your eye?” He asked, looking at her. “On the menu?”

Hermione wiped her wet lips with her fingertips, Charlie watched them move.

“Ah, I think the risotto.” she said, scanning the menu like she hadn’t already decided.

“Nice and safe choice there, Frizz. You don’t feel like you might want to try something a little more… exotic? Foreign? Spicy?” He was staring at her again and her belly started twitching.

“Ah… I don’t really know. I haven’t had some of these dishes before.” and her voice was faltering a little. She wanted to tell him to stop looking at her like she was the dinner. She wanted to tell him never to stop.

“Well, balmoș here,” he said pointing to the dish, “is delicious. Humble food, and overpriced, but never mind that. It’s, well... it’s rich and fatty, beautifully buttery and sticky. It's very cheesy, but soft and silky like a cream, and heavy and rich in taste. It’s much more than it looks. You eat it hot, with extra butter-- but in my opinion, it’s perfect for cold winter nights. It’s perfect for sharing with a lover. It’s perfect when you want something tasty, but comforting.”

Hermione gulps and she bites her lip a little. “Oh, that sounds nice.”

“Or, the spiced cabbage rolls are delicious. Goulash is also good- meat and veggies stewed with spices. I make a particularly good version. I'd have you begging for more.” He looks down at her lips, takes a deep breath.

“Um… now I’m confused, I don’t know what I want. Charlie, what have you done to me?” she laughs, trying to lighten the mood at the table.

“Nothing yet, Frizz,” and he smiles as she freezes. “I’ve just given you options to try. Live a little, eh? Try something that excites you.”

Hermione wishes she had more water.

“But I’ll cook you my Goulash one day, and I bet you nothing will compare once you try mine. It’s spicy, thick, warm, and fills your heart and belly with comfort you’ve never had before. You’ll never want another after you’ve had mine.”

She reaches and takes his glass of water to wet her dry mouth.

“I think I’ll have the Goulash then-- so I can compare. Just to see if you really are as good as you say you are.” she quips.

He smiles, his fingers brushing against hers as he takes back his glass and drains it in front of her.

“Frizz. I am. I’m probably better. You’ll see.” He winks at her.

  
  



End file.
